


The Spaces Between Us

by skerb



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Cunnilingus, Detachable Genitalia, Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Tongue (Undertale), Ecto-Vagina (Undertale), Established Relationship, Fontcest, Gift Fic, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Phone Sex, Squirting, Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, science used for sex reasons, underswap Papyrus/underfell Sans (undertale)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25055839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skerb/pseuds/skerb
Summary: Trapped apart in different universes with only a cellphone router to keep them connected, Sans has a gift for Papyrus.A neat new toy that he encourages Papyrus to play with.And who is Papyrus to say no?(Note: Underfell Sans and Underswap Papyrus are referred to as their canon names in this fic.)
Relationships: HoneyMustard, Papyrus/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 131





	The Spaces Between Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [0neType](https://archiveofourown.org/users/0neType/gifts).



“Hey.”

It’s been awhile since Papyrus has heard Sans’ -  _ Red’s _ \- voice. Well, as long as a couple weeks, anyway. It’s kind of nice to have a cell phone tapped into the universe to dial Sans whenever he wants, but they mostly just text. It’s easier that way, but the time stolen in breaks for a quick chat is always welcome.

So Papyrus, grinning awkwardly as he presses his cell phone to the side of his skull, greets him back, “Heya, sweetstacks.”

He’s not one for too many pet names, but he likes to throw Sans a curve ball now and again. Really get him to bristle, though Sans does anything but. Instead, Sans breathes a whispery laugh into his end of the receiver.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” Sans says, a propositional tone to his voice like he’s laying out all the cards for Papyrus to see. “I got somethin’ for ya.”

Papyrus is alone at home, his brother out on patrol until later in the day. It doesn’t stop him from sneaking a furtive glance to his open door anyway, nor from swallowing thickly, remembering the last time he heard that tone. His mind is a filthy mess of hot want and unashamed yearning lately.

“O-oh..?” Papyrus feels a tangled nest of emotions lodged in his soul, warming him right to his core with anticipation. He reaches for the first sparring weapon he has to keep his mind from wandering and flounders a little on the delivery. “Finally put that sourdough starter to good use?”

Sans laughs quietly, like it’s some secret thing just for Papyrus and no one else. That thought amplifies whatever anticipation he feels, sweet fondness sinking deep into his soul like a tender caress. It’s been too long since he’s touched him.  _ Much _ too long since the machine was turned off. Some days Papyrus has to fight himself from going and flipping the thing on.

“Fuck you, no. Actually,” Sans begins conversationally, “I mighta tapped into your end of the prototype I left there. Y’know. For funsies.”

“Funsies, huh.”

“Yep,” Sans replies, popping the ‘p’ for added effect. Papyrus finds it endearing more than anything. “7 C-scale containment unit, level 3.”

“Just say it’s an item box, man,” Papyrus snorts, clearly amused. “What is this?” He can’t hide the fondness in his tone nor the way his face flushes pale orange. Absently, like Sans’ll somehow see it, he rubs the heel of his palm over his cheek as though it’ll ease it away.

“I toldja. It’s somethin’ fun for you. Now go down the block like a good boy and get your special delivery,” Sans croons almost coyly. “Bring something to carry it though, or you might get put under house arrest.”

Papyrus blinks almost wildly even as he’s making for the door. He barely bothers with sliding on his slippers, but he stops short and grabs the pillowcase from his bed, all while keeping Sans on the line.

“What did you do?” Papyrus tries to say with a level tone, but his voice wavers traitorously. A myriad of things enters his head of what exactly Sans would think appropriate to send him - and second of all, it’s kind of cool that he’s managed to tap into one of the item boxes over on Papyrus’ side of the universe.

“You keep asking that and I’m gonna take it back,” Sans teases, and Papyrus feels his soul thud hard. “Trust me, yeah?”

Papyrus has never had any reason not to trust him before, but there’s still a tight apprehension that coils up in the depths of his soul. It’s like a dark promise; delight and torture all at once. He’s only just started to relax after the whole switch up scenario, finally at home in his own bones. Needless to say, Papyrus doesn’t anticipate surprises with the same amount of gusto as before.

So he doesn’t hesitate - not really - when he swallows and agrees, “Yeah, I trust you.”

Sans’ voice softens by bare degrees, and it does sweet things to Papyrus’ soul. “Good. Now, go on. Take care, eh? It’s kinda delicate.” Then the call ends.

It’s with no amount of haste that Papyrus leaves his house and into the open air. He probably looks odd with a pillowcase hanging out of his hoodie pocket, but he tries not to fumble around as he strolls down the street. The nearest item box is outside of the shop, right in plain view where everyone can see.

Papyrus certainly hopes he doesn’t run into anyone he knows right now. He’s not sure what Sans has in store for him, nor how to explain whatever ‘fun’ thing he’s got in store for him. He just swallows hard, hopes to hell that he can do this as quickly as possible and without anyone flagging him down.

Thankfully, it’s the lull in the day where everyone seems to be elsewhere, which is fine by him. Papyrus creaks open the item box’s lid, grimacing like something sordid will jump out at him. His nerves are on edge and there’s a tingle at the back of his neck like something’s trying to whisper at him from beyond the pale.

He peers in. There’s nothing inside but a small brown box, wrapped with a silky, crimson red ribbon. It’s sealed, stamped and marked with “papyrus” in bold bubbly letters. The edges are kind of hard, which makes it stand out as Sans’ handwriting, not his brother’s. Which is good, because this kind of looks like a trick.

That is, that’s what Papyrus would probably think if Sans hadn’t told him about it in advance. He thinks ‘delicate’ and figures it’s something breakable inside, so he doesn’t shake the box like he would other gifts. There’s a slight weight to it, the tingle of magic within. Weird, but not uncommon. He hopes it’s not too much of a bullet-embedded birthday card. It’d probably leave a mark, coming from the hellverse.

Like a signal, just as he slides the small box into the pillowcase, his cell phone rings. The first cheery guitar strums from a cover sing out before he answers, covert like he’d just been caught stealing something prized from a museum. “What?”

“Be gentle, I said,” Sans hisses out. It’s like Papyrus caught him off guard, and now he’s shaken up and ready, anticipating his touch.

Papyrus covertly looks around like he’s smuggling illicit goods and makes his way back to the house. “What’d you get me?”

Sans chuckles a little tenderly. “Open it when you get home, honey.”

The pet name makes a bloom of heat touch Papyrus’ face, but it’s soft and has him grinning like an idiot. “Yessir.”

Sans doesn’t say anything to that, but Papyrus can practically feel his anticipation as he strolls home and closes the door behind him. The pillowcase feels like a lop-sided weight in his hand, though he takes care in not kneeing it on his way upstairs.

“So is this some kind of dirty movie, or did you bake me a cake?”

Sans scoffs but he laughs anyway. It’s nice to have him rounded off around the edges. Papyrus can practically feel the purr in Sans’ voice. “Nah. Your brother home?”

“Nope,” Papyrus replies, still a little suspicious as he enters his room and out of habit while he’s on the phone, closes the door. “Won’t be for another few hours.” He pauses, then adds amiably, “Yours?”

“Nope,” Sans replies, and Papyrus can hear the grin in his voice. Well, he’s certainly excited about something. “Y’gonna open it?”

Yep, definitely excited.

Papyrus sits on his bed. The whiny springs creak and he hears Sans snicker at the reminder. “Yeah, yeah,” he responds with no trace of impatience, just all soft excitement around getting something from Sans - from Sans in  _ the other _ universe.  _ His _ Sans. “I’m kinda excited.”

“Heh. Me too.”

That makes Papyrus’ grin shier, all awkward because gift-giving is something new and precious. He’s been waiting for Sans to make a move further, take it step by step and not worm his way into Sans’ life like he so desperately wants to be. His soul gives an affectionate squeeze as he rests his free hand atop of the unassuming box on his lap. He feels magic. Warm, familiar magic.

“No hints?” Papyrus asks, like it’s his birthday and Sans is refusing to let him proceed without guessing.

“Hmm. You might’ve had it before,” Sans replies with an easy hum. Papyrus can almost picture him at home in his room, lying on his back in his bed. Maybe Sans is even flushed as he thinks about him. It makes him relax, makes him miss Sans.

“That narrows it down to just about everything I’ve experienced in life, dude,” Papyrus snickers. He idly tugs at the shiny red ribbon, like he’s waiting to be told it’s ok to open it. “…Is this really ok?”

The fragile tentativeness in his voice betrays how much Papyrus really feels about this. It’s not his birthday, and it’s not like he’s ever expected Sans to give him anything. But here he is… with something that’s given to him, with him in mind. He hears the whisper of Sans’ breaths on the other line, just trying to tug at his heartstrings. It works like a charm.

“Nah, I’m just kidding. Put it back.”

Papyrus hopes that he’s probably just being a dick, but his magic’s pulse quickens anyway. He darts a glance to his closed door, unable to protest. He’s unable to stumble through words that mean so much to him, and he’s frozen in place.

“Yeah, man,” Sans finally concedes, like he’s a little shy himself. There’s a hint of great fondness in his voice when he murmurs, “`Course it’s ok. Why would I go through all the effort if I didn’t want it?”

Well, that’s an odd way of phrasing it, Papyrus thinks.

“Did you open it yet?”

“No,” Papyrus admits quietly, only to be laughed at in response. His face heats up again, blush crawling up his throat. “Fine, you tease.”

“Careful,” Sans says in mock warning, the sweet talker.

Papyrus knows exactly why that gets to him and lets it wrap around his soul like the many feelings he loses himself to lately. God, he loves him. He relaxes a little more, using the tip of his finger to slide under the ribbon and pull one end free. It’s a sloppy bow, but the thought of Sans wrapping the present for him -  _ just for him, _ makes a sweet tenderness swell up within Papyrus’ soul.

He’s always been a little bit of a sap.

…Ok, maybe a big sap.

Tree secretions aside, Papyrus isn’t sure what to expect when he slides the ribbon away from the box and unfolds the top. There’s a peek of something familiar and red, something he’s nuzzled into and thought about constantly ever since Papyrus last saw him.

It’s Sans’ shirt. One of his favourites. He falls silent, reverent as he pulls out the fabric, and  _ oh, _ it even smells like him. Papyrus’ soul squeezes in that yearning way again, huffing out a pleased breath that almost sounds lost.

A tear pricks at Papyrus’ eye as he carefully pulls Sans’ shirt from the box, wrinkled from wear and yes, smelling like old spice and a hint of familiar magic. It stirs up a sore heartache of loneliness that makes more tears prick at Papyrus’ eyes. He swallows hard, trying not to sound strangled when he whispers out, “Sans, what the fuck.”

“Honestly I thought you’d be a bit more excited than that,” Sans shoots back, though his tone’s a little eager to please. “Or are you gettin’ all sentimental over the wrapping like a grandma?” It’s a little teasing, but his voice is soft and warm, just as Papyrus envisions the sun to be. He wants to curl up next to Sans, press him to his chest, and inhale his scent straight from the source.

Papyrus isn’t sure what to say to what Sans said, so he doesn’t say a word. He’s trapped between cracking a grin and blinking back tears. This is the most thoughtful thing he’s ever gotten… well, one of them, anyway. Papyrus presses the shirt to his mouth as though he could just kiss Sans from there. His heart and soul  _ wants. _

He thumbs the fabric, every worn crease where it had clung to Sans’ body a treasure. That he  _ exists _ somewhere; tangible proof, not that he needed it with Sans’ voice whispered into his phone.

Papyrus inhales again. It’s shaky, like he can’t quite keep the sob at bay. Sans patiently waits on the other line, though his pleased little hum speaks of another mood entirely.

“Yeah, yeah…” Sans murmurs indulgently, like hearing Papyrus breaking down into tears is doing funny things to his head. He sounds overly fond when he mentions, “You can keep the wrapping, at least. Why don’t ya look a little closer?”

Papyrus sniffs in a way that’s not at all dry and wipes over his eyes, holding the shirt to his chest like something precious. As the cloth is pulled from the box, a dim glow, crimson and warm catches his attention.

His breath stutters out, then he holds it.

“Is…”

Sans doesn’t give him a moment to finish his sentence, instead barrelling over his reasoning so Papyrus doesn’t freak the fuck out. Which would be fine and all, if Papyrus wasn’t staring with such intensity into the box while also pressing the shirt so hard to his chest that it’ll probably leave bruises later.

“Don’t… look too much into this, ok?” Sans begins, as though he’s trying to collect his thoughts. It’s too late; Papyrus is already hard at work, shifting Sans’ words to match his brain processes. ‘Don’t look’ into how much time it took to figure out how he managed to keep his magic conjured across universes. What it took to box it up, trust that it would arrive safely in the  _ correct _ universe, and that Papyrus -  _ his _ lover - would be the one to retrieve it.

That, and what it meant to surrender himself to him, to put Papyrus so completely in control of him when it was all he could do not to draw parallels between his past encounters and his time with whom he loves.

A knot forms in Papyrus’ throat. The sheath of magic is off to one side of the box, cushioned by a small fold of Sans’ shirt, inviting and warm. Blush scalds across his face, threatening to become a permanent feature. He can hear Sans’ breaths slow and deep like he’s trying not to sound nervous.

Papyrus can’t quite manage words yet, let alone vowel noises. He’s not sure if this means he can touch it, or-

(Of course it does.

Sans made this for  _ him. _ Sent it  _ for _ him.  _ To use…) _

Papyrus shivers out a sigh, only managing, “R.. really?” In all honesty, he’s slammed by the amount of trust this takes. That Sans  _ wants _ him that much.

But then, he’d said as much, hadn’t he?

_ ‘Why would I go through all the effort if I didn’t want it?’ _

Papyrus makes a soft “Oh,” low in his throat, shrugging the phone between his face and shoulder so he can attempt some way to manoeuvre the magic into his hand. It’s not quite formless, more of a dense haze that matches Sans’ magic, clear and deep and plush. His soul pounds a mile a minute as Papyrus tries with some amount of decorum to be gentle in its handling.

When his fingertips rest upon it, he’s not sure what he’s expecting. There’s a heavy weight in the air, like the tension is so thick with want just by having Sans on the phone that Papyrus isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. But as soon as he makes contact, the tension dissipates a little with Sans’ sharp, startled breath. Then it’s replaced with something else.

“There you go,” Sans sighs; his voice is shy, nervous, held back and on the cusp of reedy, like Papyrus’ first touch is all he needed. “It’s real, by the way.”

Papyrus is caught off guard. He tenses, like yeah, he’s aware, that’s definitely Sans’ detached magic and he’s just  _ trying _ to keep it together so he doesn’t make any awkward noises. Bereft of feedback, Sans’s breaths are starting to get funny. Like maybe he’s getting second thoughts.

Papyrus can’t hold back a little whimper, anticipation pulsing all the way down his spine to nestle in the cradle of his pelvis. Sans offering this, urging him on… It makes his pubic symphysis throb.

So he swallows to clear his throat, heat scalding high on his cheekbones. He’s not sure if he can handle the heavy way Sans intakes a breath when he moves it into his hand, encircling his fingers around the dense, hazy magic.

“Ok.”

Sans laughs a little breathily. “Aren’t you gonna..?” he asks, anticipation clear in his voice. It dips lower, playing on Papyrus’ higher brain functions like a lightning strike.

God, he feels like he’s going to melt. He’s not sure why he exhales as long as he does, like he’s trying to cool off in the sweltering heat of Hotland, but it does nothing to lessen the throb between his legs. He hooks a foot behind his ankle, curling his toes, very aware that Sans is waiting for him.  _ Urging him. _

“Yeah,” he whispers with startling clarity.

Papyrus can almost feel the grin in Sans’ voice when he says again, much lower, “Well, then. Go on, love.”

It’s cheating to say the L-word, but it knocks down every door and defense in Papyrus’ soul. He whimpers again and relaxes a little, the traitorous thump in his chest echoing its desire to touch and explore.

He wants it all.

Of course, he’s tangled in a mess of what he wants versus what  _ Sans _ wants. What Sans wants is nothing short of everything, and it’s not like Papyrus isn’t game. He swallows again, turning the sheath of magic around in his hands like appraising a lost artifact; full of wonder, hunger and a need to see how it ticks.

The fun thing is that it’s not a cock. He’s not sure if it could count as a pussy either, but there’s a definite end and an almost membrane that has no clear exit on the opposite side. It makes his soul clench, his shy touches tracing around the opening. The magic fleshes out a little, yearning to his touch, opening up for him. It becomes more recognisable then.

It’s warm, familiar magic that he’s tasted before. His mouth waters, and while Papyrus pretends not to be too affected by it, his touch brings out a soft noise from the other end of the call.

“That’s it,” Sans sighs out, like it’s just for him. Another flash from Papyrus’ imagination fuels the hotter side of his brain, one that has Sans sprawled out on his bed, alone and at his mercy. There’s something unbearably raunchy about that idea that makes the space between his legs pulse with heated magic, and Papyrus locks his knees together as though that’ll save him from the ache.

“Keep goin’, Paps,” comes the gentle urge, and Papyrus draws in a slow breath to savour the thick heat of the room. He’s glad he closed the door, but he looks around just to make sure nothing sneaked in. “I want you.”

There’s an unfair advantage Sans has with Papyrus - in that he’s heard himself say it over and over, where Papyrus thinks the entire earth is going to swallow him up if Sans so much as makes one overtly horny request.

He tries to relax, to attempt some modicum of sauveness that Papyrus can’t collect. He eases back on the mattress, moving the box to the side to tumble off the bed and out of the way. He holds the magic in his hands, true and alive, beckoning him to explore.

It’s really ok. Sans wants this.

It responds to his tentative touches, warming his fingertips to curve down Sans’ folds. When Sans sighs again, pleased, it gives Papyrus renewed courage to explore a little further. He pulls the shirt up against his chest, like Sans is there with him in body, curled up in bed, sweet and pliant.

“You can fuck me like this,” Sans says with an impressive amount of confidence that makes Papyrus stammer a little, like he’s actually gonna protest. Instead, he swallows like he already tastes him, a bud of wetness on his tongue. “I’m into it, just sayin’.”

Papyrus grins despite himself, all flustered but on the verge of laughter. To distract himself, he pushes his thumbs up on each side of Sans’ slit, catching a bit of wetness to circle his clit. Predictably, Sans’ breath catches. It’s proving to be an addicting sound.

“You gonna work me up to it?” Sans sighs. Papyrus hears a shift of fabric and automatically envisions Sans sprawled out on his back, legs quivering as he drags his thumb around his clit in lazy circles. “I already worked myself up, y’know. Got -  _ nnh _ \- got myself pretty ready before, ah…”

Papyrus’ soul is pounding at Sans’ shaky voice, but he doesn’t stop the firm circles. He’s drunk on Sans’ huffs, like he’s wriggling, trying to draw it out. The tip of his finger catches a bit more wetness as he spreads Sans a little. He wants to taste him.

“Of course you did,” Papyrus finally whispers, unpractised and shy with his own dirty talk. It’s more honest, but it doesn’t keep him from sneaking a lick from his finger. He’s warming up to this special delivery, even if his face is still scalding hot. “I just want to make sure you’re,” he swallows, his breath stuttering out, “ready to take my big dick.”

There’s no way that didn’t sound awkward, but Sans’ laugh is shaky, like he’s half distracted. His breaths are audible, playing off what Papyrus feels is some kind of new thing for him. He can’t help but wonder if Sans is touching himself at the same time, or if he’s letting Papyrus do all the work.

“Gonna finger fuck me?” Sans moans softly.

Shit. Wow, ok. Yeah, Papyrus thinks. He nods, then remembers that Sans can’t see him and hums thoughtfully. He traces Sans’ wet slit with two fingers, like he can see Sans tilt his pelvis forward, all flushed pretty and eager for him. “Yeah, honey,” he whispers, and the broken noise Sans makes makes the magic between his legs pulse again. “I don’t know if two will be enough. Your fingers are kinda small.”

He considers, then sinks three fingers in and Sans takes it like parting water. He feels tighter, like it was a little devious of him to push in more than what he said he’d do. Sans makes a noise that shoots straight to Papyrus’ pubic symphysis, magic hot and dense. He swallows, but he crooks and thrusts his fingers deep inside, feeling the small twinges like Sans is already so close.

“Fuck,” Sans gasps. Papyrus thinks of him grasping at the front of his shorts, helpless but to take when he gives him. He wonders if Sans will rub the hot line of his pubic symphysis, trying to get an inch of relief. “Are you gonna spoil me?”

Papyrus considers it. “Yeah, I think you’ve earned it.” The praise goes down relatively easy this time, and Sans’ moan shudders like it’s creeping down his spine. Sans repeats the swear, bitten off like he’s fighting it back just as Papyrus pushes another finger into him.

Sans’ breath hitches when Papyrus moves his magic up to his mouth, gentle in his eagerness to taste him. He can hear the muffled shout when he brushes just  _ so _ and feels Sans tighten around his fingers when his tongue laves against Sans’ clit. The sensory input is a bit heavy, like he knows that if all of Sans was here with him he would’ve scrabbled for his skull, tightened his legs around his shoulders…

Papyrus shifts on his bed, trying for a position that will distract him from how badly he just wants to take it all. Sans babbles something, high and airy. Papyrus is a little too good with his hands and makes use of that knowledge often. He can feel Sans spasming where he penetrates, his tongue giving firmer licks in counterpoint to the thrusts.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck-” Sans groans in a rush, fully lost to the moment. The auditory feedback makes Papyrus feel drunk and hazy, pulsing between his legs like the sweetest of torture. Sans’ pleas whisper his name over and over, half-broken and watery gasps a tantamount to how close he’s gotten in such little time.

Sans had said that he’d toyed with himself beforehand, which makes Papyrus yearn for him all the more. He pulls off Sans’ cunt, his breaths hot and heavy. Every gasp Sans inhales is just short of a whine, like he was so close and he’s just trying not to beg. Papyrus continues the teasing circles, wringing out soft, nonsensical little noises from his lover.

Roughly, Papyrus murmurs, “You touching yourself?”

Sans barks out a surprised laugh, clearly not expecting the question. He clenches at the same time, like he’s really there with him. “I can do that,” he almost purrs, still trying to sound seductive. Too late; Papyrus already fell for him: hook, line and sinker. “I’ve got my hands at the ready. Tell me what to do.”

The shock of want that courses through Papyrus’ body is nothing short of electrifying. He swallows hard, some of his nerve lost, but it’s not entirely gone. Sans is so utterly at his mercy, reedy gasps breathed into the phone like it’s directly into his skull.

It’s uneasy when he says it, like the words don’t fit in his mouth just right, but when Papyrus whispers, “Stroke your symphysis,” he feels Sans’ cunt flutter at the request.

Sans sighs out long as he gets into it, his magic strengthening in hue. Papyrus briefly closes his eyes, drawing his knees closer to himself as he braces his back on the cool wall next to his bed. The mattress creaks, quickening his magic’s pulse. He pins Sans’ magic in the crease between his knees, giving lazy, messy strokes to Sans’ clit. His fingers are soaked, a sleek glide that’s clumsy and hard to keep rhythm with. Sans’ breaths echo heavily in his head, drowning out the world around him.

“You sound good,” he murmurs into the charged tension. Sans answers with another tight moan, desperate like it’s not nearly enough. Or maybe he’s just teasing himself until he’s riled up and ready. Papyrus allows his free hand to drift down into his sweatpants to between his legs where his magic coalesces with yearning. “Taste so good.”

Sans stutters at the praise. Yeah, this is becoming Papyrus’ favourite thing to listen to. For added effect, he reverses the direction and strokes between Sans’ folds, getting him ready. He’s already so wet; he could take all of Papyrus so easily.

Papyrus’ neck is probably going to be sore in the morning, but this is fucking worth it, holy shit. His pubic symphysis is as hot as a brand, magic concentrated so much that he just allows it to form. He’s not as big as he normally is, but then again, neither is Sans.

His fingers slippery from being in Sans’ pussy, Papyrus uses the glide to lube himself up. The first touches are nothing short of electrifying and he can’t help the low moan that creeps up his throat.

“You gonna use me?” he can hear Sans pant, and Papyrus’ face heats up anew. His strokes become a little frantic, momentarily desperate to come undone by the dirty fantasy. Somehow, he slows his hand, but Papyrus looks at Sans’ magic with such hunger that he’s not sure if he can keep himself from temptation. “Go on, ‘Pyrus,” Sans urges, “Just for you,  _ hah, _ c’mon… I miss you so fucking much-”

With crumbling resolve, Papyrus swirls Sans’ swollen clit around with his thumb as he jerks himself off. It’s getting clumsy, hard to manage with only one hand. Sans is so wet and he’s begging for him. Papyrus’ cock stiffens, the tip glistening with precum as it mixes with the slick from his hand. He doesn’t know what he sounds like, but Papyrus is almost afraid to lose himself fully, tight, hot little gasps and moans fuelling Sans’ desperate feedback.

“C’mon,” Sans pleads, his voice reedy. “Don’t make me come from just this. I  _ need _ you-”

A startled noise erupts from Sans’ throat when Papyrus’ will just fucking  _ breaks _ like an poorly constructed card castle. He handles Sans with all the care in the world, but his hands are so warmed by their mingled magic that Papyrus feels drunk on it, heady and hot. His chest tightens as his nerves pour out all at once over Sans giving himself to him completely, pleading and desperate for him.

The magic construct is flushed, beaming a bright crimson that contrasts his soft peach. Papyrus lines up the lips of Sans’ pussy to the tip of his cock as Sans’ excited hum shoots to his higher brain functions. It puppets him like a horny teenager, coaxing him to continue, to take what’s given to him. Papyrus’ throat feels tight but he manages some half-formed moan, a treat for Sans to bask in over how much he’s fucked up over this. Sans’ soft laugh is almost manic.

“Fill me up,” he shivers out, sweet as spun sugar. Papyrus adjusts his hold on him, and Sans can’t help the muffled impatient whine in anticipation. “Fuck, please..?”

If Sans was here with him, Papyrus would grab his legs and ease inside, taking him inch by inch until Sans’ spine twitched with how full he was. Now, he spreads him open with a thumb, coaxing the head of his dick to glide generously over Sans’ clit, between his folds and down again. The noises Sans rewards him with are nothing short of hot, and Papyrus is torturing himself by denying them each pleasure.

He takes Sans’ magic in hand, tilting it down towards the tip of his cock, and slowly sinks the warm magic over him. He rocks it a little as it goes, allowing Sans’ filthy groan of want to fill his skull when the tip is fully embedded within him. He can just picture Sans greedily arch up into him, wanting to be filled completely, grasping at him with all the want in the world.

It must be maddening to not know what to expect. A flash of something devious enters his head, but it’s snuffed out by Sans’ bare whimper for more. “I want you,” tumbles from the other end of the call, along with the muffled shift of fabric and the rustle of the phone moving. Sans claws at the sheets, at Papyrus’ complete mercy. He can’t even push up to meet with his hips.

The magic construct pulses around his dick, wet and hot and familiar. Papyrus groans as he pushes it down, careful to listen for any clues as to Sans’ discomfort. All that comes is a sharp inhale, a gasped out,  _ “Yes.” _

It’s slow, maddeningly so. He misses Sans’ body against him, the quiver of his legs when Papyrus pushes into him and Sans’ arms heavy and warm around his neck. He misses his taste, the gentle hum of their souls singing in unity, and the sweet, longing kisses Sans gives him. All he has now is a somewhat disjointed heat where they’re connected.

It’s not as intimate, but it’s all they’ve got. Papyrus gradually hilts himself to the base, the sensation of holding the sleeve hot and thick in his hands. It’s sweet and heady, clenching lightly like Sans means to tug him further in. Papyrus gives in to a breathless noise, taking that as permission to push in a little more. Sans makes a noise he doesn’t recognise, but it fuels him.

Patiently, he waits, using his thumb to rub affectionately against Sans’ clit.

Then, thickly, Sans swallows and whispers shakily, “Ok.”

The pause was likely more for Papyrus’ benefit, but he’s not gonna argue. Not when Sans sounds so sweet for him, drunk on sensation and pleasure. It’s weird to pull up on it, like some kind of toy he’d seen in a dirty magazine at one time or another, and it clenches against the draw, all hot and tight. He braces his feet flat against the mattress to balance himself, soaking up the yearning groan Sans rewards him with when Papyrus pushes it back down his length.

It’s not quite the same, but it’s achingly familiar. Papyrus bucks up into his grip of the sheath, pulling Sans’ shirt closer to him so he can inhale his sharp scent. It feels  _ good. _ Better than good - it feels like Sans. Their magics ripple together like waves in a restless pond as Papyrus steadily pulls into Sans’ pussy, hot and soft. It makes a wet noise to fluster him, but it only makes Papyrus hotter. He groans fully, arching into the movement. Sans sounds like he’s trying to keep it together, losing control by everything that’s done to him.

With the workout and the relentless stroking to his clit, Papyrus feels Sans come first. It’s long and drawn out, so he slows, feeling the pulse of orgasm flutter around his cock, threatening to wring release from him. He stays inside of Sans, gently fucking him through it. Sans’ voice comes muffled over the call, buried into a pillow that does nothing to douse Papyrus’ imagination.

They’re short, bobbing little thrusts. He doesn’t even hilt all the way, the gentle throbbing around his cock something to lose himself in. Sans’ noises have never really stopped, but there’s something markedly different about them now. It makes heat flood his face, the aching vowel sounds and grunted affirmations all he needs to continue.

Sans urges him on, likely clinging hard to the pillow he’s using to muffle himself with. Papyrus wonders in a haze if Sans is riding it a little, not quite come down from his climax. He can’t believe how easy it is to fuck this way, using his hand to guide the sheath as it rocks against his cock. Papyrus whimpers, telltale flutters starting up again. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take it. The sensations are too much, all at once, and his senses are drowned in Sans.

Sans, whose gasps and whimpers have reached a crescendo of “Oh god, ah!”, “Take me,” and various swears, keens higher and higher until his voice just  _ cracks. _ Papyrus smears his thumb sloppily against his clit, trying to draw out the orgasm, withdrawing his cock for that extra bit of sensation to tip Sans off the edge. Sans shouts, then goes briefly quiet, only his breaths haggard and hard as fluid gushes from between Papyrus’ fingertips.

Sans breathes like he’s drowning, every gasp and hum aborted and huffed. Papyrus gusts out a pleased laugh, careful to stroke down Sans’ oversensitive pussy with his fingertips. The fluid wasn’t cum, but it certainly made things more slippery. Sans huffs out a laugh himself, sounding nearly deranged.

“F.. fuck.”

“I’ll say,” Papyrus murmurs, finding some of that sauve bravado he keeps under lock and key. “You squirted,” he reveals, sounding supremely proud of himself.

Sans laughs a little more, humming between chuckles. Papyrus’ soul squeezes with how much he loves that sound. “Again..?” he asks, pretty as you please.

Papyrus’ soul then thuds hard, laving his tongue against his hand to taste Sans. He’s not quite sure, so he just gently says, “Nah, first time.”

Sans almost snorts but he sounds genuinely happy, his voice low and brassy from being thoroughly fucked. “I mean gimme another orgasm, you nerd.”

Seeing as Papyrus hasn’t got off yet, he grins crookedly, assessing the piece in his hands. He teases the entrance with the tip of his dripping cock, hard and eager.

“Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Bday gift for 0neType ;u; happy birthday my darling friend~ ♥
> 
> The boys' relationship is based on Type's amazing fic "[sticks & stones](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6242380)" :DD


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